


Ruthless

by surrendertothesky



Series: One Night in New Orleans [1]
Category: Dark-Hunter Series - Sherrilyn Kenyon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-26
Updated: 2009-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrendertothesky/pseuds/surrendertothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruth's life as a Dark-Hunter has been short and violent - what else would it be? And, unlike most of her fellow Hunters, she has a grudge against the Daimons from her human life...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruthless

I died when I was twenty four. I wanted nothing but revenge.

I got it, too.

I died in a relatively normal way, really. Car crash. Of course, what else? That’s what it’s like these days. It’ll either be cancer of some drunken nobs in a V8.

I got neither the drunks nor the V8. Lucky, lucky me.

 

* * *

When I finished high school I went straight to uni. To Victoria, in Wellington, to study Classics and Greek. I met Carl in my first week. I was in love with him by the third and pregnant to him at the end of our first year.

We had a shotgun wedding. Fucking joy.

It was, too. I loved him and he loved me. What more could I want?

 

* * *

 

On the night it started I was working in the bottle store. I’d had two jobs, you see. During the day I worked as the receptionist at Korokoro Primary – where my son, Matt, now five, went to school – and four nights a week I worked at the Liquor King up at Melling.

That particular night was really slow. I stood there, behind the counter, picking my nails and staring into space when an Apollite and three Daimons walked in.

Of course, I didn’t know that at the time.

I just thought, Damn, they’re fine.

Well, I did until the Apollite said, “The money or your life?”

“Jesus Christ, buddy,” I said. “Could you get more cliché?”

“Well,” he said. “How ‘bout your soul then?”

What an odd thing to say.

“Nah,” I said, pulling out the Berretta 92FS my boss kept under the counter. “I don’t really feel like it, ay.”

 

* * *

 

I knew how to use it, too. I’m a King Country farm girl born and bred. I was born shooting.

I’d been an only child. My father’d wanted hordes of sons just like his sisters had but he had to make do with just me. Every good farmer teaches their kids to shoot. My father was no exception.

I started on rabbits then moved up to bigger game. And, like the son he wished I was, I went hunting with him. The only time I refused to make a kill was when my old, doddery gelding fell down a bank and broke two of his legs.

Dad shot him.

I grieved, yes. But even at eight years old I was a practical girl. I knew we would have hurt him more trying to save him.

 

* * *

 

The Apollite’s eyes widened slightly and he pulled a knife.

I shot him. I couldn’t help it. I’m trigger happy. I just love the feeling of a gun recoiling in my hands, the shock bouncing up my arms and through my body. Oh, it feels...

It’s sex, boy. _Sex_.

His collar bone shattered and his blood began to flow.

The Daimons’ eyes dilated and they glared at me. One of them grabbed his fallen friend and they ran.

I shrugged, clicked the safety back on the Berretta and put it back under the counter. Then I called the cops and my boss.

“Again, Ruth?” my boss said after I told him. “You shot _another_ guy?” He sighed. “The others never shoot anyone. What is it with you, girl?”

I grunted. “I dunno, boss. Sorry for waking you up. Sorry about the paperwork.” I hung up before he could reply.

When I finally got back to our tiny flat on London Road, Carl was waiting up for me. I’ve told him he doesn’t have to but he does anyway. “How was work?” he asked.

“I shot some guy. He wanted money and pulled a knife.” I yawned. “Let’s go to bed.”

Carl took my hands and kissed me, pulling me back towards our bed. “I love you,” he said between kisses. “Even when you shoot people.”

“I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

Two days later it was Friday – one of my three nights off – and I was in the car driving to my in-laws’ place in Wainui. The cold, wintery six o’clock darkness surrounded the car, pressing in on all sides.

Matt was in the back seat. Every Friday we went to the in-laws’ place for dinner. Carl would go straight there after work.

My mother-in-law forced our marriage but that’s ok. I could have done infinitely worse in the in-law department.

At the Ewen Bridge roundabout I died.

As I pulled into the traffic, a piece of shit Corolla ploughed into the driver’s side door.

Matt screamed.

My arm broke. Pain shattered any conscious thought and then was overwhelmed by numbness as my spine snapped.

“Mum!” Matt screamed. “ _Mummy!_ ”

I couldn’t turn around to see if he was ok so I looked in the rear vision mirror. He wasn’t hurt.

Thank you. There is a god.

“Matt,” I said. “Are you ok?”

He was sobbing, his face blank with shock. “Yes,” he said uncertainly.

“Good boy. Be brave for Mummy now.”

He nodded, tears still streaming down his face.

I could already feel death creeping up on me. My attention was wavering, my vision darkening. I would be gone soon.

I’ve been knocked out before but this felt much more immediate. Much more permanent.

But then, in the mirror, I saw one of the Daimons from the other night. He wrenched open the door and grabbed Matt. He bit into Matt’s neck and sucked the life and soul from my son right before my eyes, then tossed his lifeless body on the seat.

I screamed.

But shock is a wonderful thing. My mind was clear and as he pulled me towards him I could think of nothing but dying before he did the same to me.

And as I died my soul screamed.

I have never heard a sound so loud. It shook my dying body. It shook the world. It shook Olympus.

And Artemis heard me.

She scared off the Daimon, then crouched in front of me. “I can give you vengeance,” she said. “And in return you must serve me for eternity.”

“What does serving you entail?” I asked.

“Killing every Daimon you can find.”

“What’re they?”

“They’re soul-stealers. The man who killed your son was one.”

“Count me in,” I said. “Who gives a fuck about eternity if I can kill him.”

She placed her hand on the back of my right shoulder, healing my wounds and burning her double bow and arrow brand into my skin. “Also,” she said. “You won’t be able to walk in daylight, you’ll burn. I’ll send Acheron to train you as soon as I can.” She vanished, leaving me to make my way into the night.

 

* * *

 

I was in our flat – no, I thought sadly. It was only Carl’s now.

I went over to the book shelf and pulled out the photo album. I took one photo. The one from last Christmas. We all went to Rotorua and camped by Lake Rerewhakaaitu. In the photo we were all standing under one of the big pines. All of us. In-laws, crazy cousins and all.

I pulled the photo from its sleeve and tucked it into my pocket.

From the kitchen I took the carving knife.

And as I left I looked around and said to the empty room, “I love you, Carl. I always will.”

 

* * *

 

I killed the soul-sucking Daimon and his two buddies who were in the car at the time. I slit their throats. And when that didn’t work I stabbed their hearts. They exploded into dust around my knife. Later, Acheron would tell me I’d stabbed their inkblots.

I found out later that the Apollite I shot had died because he was so wounded he couldn’t take a soul to save his own life.

 

* * *

 

A week later I visited Matt’s grave. He’d been buried that day. It was midnight and still Carl stood there alone. I pulled my hood over my head so he wouldn’t recognise me. “I’m sorry,” I choked.

He didn’t look up and I was grateful of that. If he’d looked at me I don’t know what I would have done.

We stood in silence for the entire night. I only left because dawn was coming.

 

* * *

 

Acheron showed up the next night. He stamped his foot on the manhole cover about my head a couple of times then said, “Ruth, it’s dark. You can come out now.”

I was down here, under the footpath, because it was the only place I could think of where absolutely no sunlight could get to me. And there was no way in hell I was going to come out without knowing who it was.

He stamped a couple more times. “Ruth,” he said. “It’s Acheron. Artemis told you I’d come, didn’t she? Please don’t tell me she forgot.” He pronounced his name as Asheron not Ackeron as it was properly said.

It was my goal in life – and now death – to pronounce _everything_ properly. Especially Greek things. (Hey, I did Classics, I’m allowed to be pedantic.)

I tried to lift up the cover but it was too heavy. He must have been standing on it. “If you get off the cover, you fat lump,” I said, “I’ll come out.”

I waited until I heard him move before I tried again. I came out to find a Goth guy standing there. There wasn’t an inch of fat on him anywhere. He was a good foot taller than me, making him dead on six eight.

But, cripes, was he a fine looking guy. I mean, Carl was a really good looking bloke but Acheron...

Wow. Just wow.

His black hair was long and streaked through with red. A dragon tattoo curled up the side of his neck. A black backpack was slung over his shoulder and he wore sunnies even though it was dark. He looked about twenty one.

And I knew exactly what he was. I knew that he was an eleven thousand year old Atlantean god. The Apostolos, the Harbinger. The Final Fate of us all. I knew the tattoo on his neck was actually a Charonte demon called Simi.

I knew what he’d been through. The torture of his mortal life. The torture of his immortal one. I was sorry for him and I knew he knew it.

“So, you’re Acheron,” I said. “You’re not what I expected.”

He looked down at me. “It’s Asheron or Ash for short.”

“I know.” I paused. “How do I know all this?”

“Artemis grants her Hunters powers when she takes your soul. You have just the one. To know everything about people by just looking at them. She must like you.”

“No,” I said. “It’s because she knows what it’s like to loose her family.”

“You could tell that by looking at her?”

“No, I can tell by looking at _you_.” I paused, then said, “Hey! You could say, ‘Woe is me,’ and it’d be true!” I laughed. The Acheron was the River of Woe in Hades, the Greek Underworld.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” I laughed again.

He rolled his eyes, I’m sure. “So, Artemis told you about the Daimons?”

“Yep, I’ve killed three already. They killed my son.”

 

* * *

 

Acheron trained me for a week and a half before deciding that I’d do ok on my own. “If you can’t stab them to death,” he told me, “you could probably just annoy them so much they’ll _want_ to die.”

Heh. Niiice.

He sent me to Auckland to clean out the Daimons there but after a year I was bored out of my tree. So, I headed to where the action is. The States. I didn’t care that he’d told me to stay in New Zealand.

Who gives a fuck about his and Artemis’ rules? Not me for sure. You don’t believe me? Ok, so let’s take a look.

 _Honour Artemis._ She’s a bitch, why would I do that? Then again, she did give me a new lease on life. Death. Whatever.

 _Drink no blood._ Are you kidding? Bloodthirsty is my middle name. I’ve killed and drained every Blood Rite to ever come after me.

 _Harm no human or Apollite._ If they fuck with me, I’ll kill them.

 _Never touch your Squire._ Well, I’ve never had one, so that’s easy.

 _Speak with no family, no friends who knew you before you died._ Well. That’s out, too.

 _Let no Daimon escape alive._ My favourite rule!

 _Never speak of what you are._ Only nutcases would believe me, anyhow.

 _You walk alone._ Nah, man. I love annoying people too much for that.

 _Keep your bow mark hidden._ Fuck that, dude. I like wearing singlets way too much.

* * *

I chased a Daimon down Ursulines. He had about ten metres lead on me. We screeched around the corner and I saw him run into Sanctuary.

It was probably stupid being here in New Orleans where Acheron hung out most of the time.

I sidled up to Dev Peltier. “Hey, Dev,” I said, using my power to learn his name. I’ve gained enough control now so that I can only learn the things I _want_ to know about people.

Dev’s an Arcadian bear. His sister owns the place. “How do you know my name?” he asked.

In the dark he wouldn’t be able to see my souless-black eyes. I shrugged. “My workmates come here all the time.” It wasn’t even a lie. “They said Dev was the nicest of the quads. He said I could tell you ‘cause you’d have a bow and arrow tat on your arm.” I nodded at said tattoo.

I would like to point out here that I do not look like a Dark-Hunter. I don’t wear black for a start. I was wearing a fluro pink singlet (making it easy to see my brand), electric blue skinny jeans and red steel capped boots. I had my gun down the back of my jeans and a sawn off shotgun and other toys in the purple duffle bag over my shoulder.

Clash much, I know. But Daimons only ever expect Dark-Hunters to be in black. They ignore everyone else – or think of them as food. And they never look for our brand. The phrase about hiding in plain sight springs to mind.

When I do actually hide my brand I can almost pass for an Apollite.

I waltzed on past him.

He saw my brand and grabbed my shoulder. “Dark-Hunter,” he growled. “Get back here.”

I let him drag me back in front of him.

“I know the rules. Start nothin’, won’t be nothin’,” I said in a very bad imitation of his Southern drawl.

“There are some big guns in there tonight,” he said. “You be careful.”

I scoffed. “I don’t need protecting, Dev.” I paused, then said, “Who’s in there?”

“A couple of demons, several gods and two _really_ pissed off Dark-Hunters.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Nick Gautier and Samia.”

I whistled. Gods, this was going to be fun. Everyone’s heard of Nick.

 

* * *

 

I’d met Samia about a month after I came to the States. In Detroit we bumped into each other – literally – when we were tracking a group of Daimons each. I think the Daimons figured there’d be safety in numbers.

After, we were cleaning up and I was annoying the fuck out of her – oh, my special little skill.

She punched me in the face.

Before she even realised what I was doing, I drew my gun from the back of my jeans and shot her in the cheek. My cheek exploded and pain lanced out tenfold across my face but I didn’t care. I didn’t care that even standing next to her was weakening my power and, besides, there’s more to death than magical mojo. Weakening my power doesn’t decrease my ability to piss people off and I’d already learnt enough about her before my power began to wane.

She worked her mouth, then spat out the bullet. “A gun,” she scoffed. “Gods, you must be new.”

If you were wondering, yes, it _is_ a Berretta 92FS.

“Yeah. But I bet you can’t hit Inkblots from a hundred paces.”

“So? It wouldn’t kill them anyway.”

“Honey,” I said. “I can hit _the_ inkblot.” I tapped my chest.

“Ah.” She looked at me with new gaze after that.

Acheron knew, naturally.

“So,” he said when I saw him next. “I hear you had a run in with Sam.”

“You didn’t hear that from anyone,” I said. “You’re just using your crazy-arse powers. You know what went down and you know that I don’t give a fuck that I’m not in Auckland where I’m supposed to be.” I paused. “Actually, I like it better here. There aren’t any JAFAs.”

That’s Just Another Fucking Aucklander to you ignorant puppies. We New Zealanders (the ones not from Auckland, nimrod) have it against our largest city in a big way.

“Ruth,” he said warningly.

“What?” I spat.

“I don’t want to resign you to the Dogs of War. You haven’t even had twenty six years on this earth. The others were alive and dead for far longer than you before they became what they are today.”

“So? You know I don’t give a rat’s arse.”

 

* * *

 

Dev let me inside. I went up to the bar, got a beer and looked around. The Daimon I’d been after had disappeared. Well, no loss. I’d have more fun with Sam and Nick, anyway. I scanned the crowd and finally saw them. I let my powers tell me who and what they were.

The demons Simi and Nim sat giggling together. The Titan Cratus, son of Styx and Pallas, sat with his arm around his wife Delphine. He preferred to be called Jericho nowadays. Delphine was an Oneroi, a Dream-Hunter.  The demigod Zarek sat next to them drinking his beer, looking very bored. The Sephiroth, Jared, sat next to Simi and Nim. Sam and Nick sat opposite each other, looking pissy.

I didn’t even need my power to know who Nick was. Everyone knows he’s the only Dark-Hunter to have his brand on his face.

I grinned. Fuck, this was going to be fun.

I walked over to their table, pulled up a chair and sat down, dropping my bag on the floor. I pulled my gun out of the back of my jeans, pulled it completely apart and began to clean it with the bottom edge of my singlet.

“Sup, puppies,” I said.

Sam flipped me her finger.

“Love you, too, Sam,” I said.

“Who the hell are you?” Cratus growled.

“Oh, nice to see you, too, Cratus,” I said, not looking up at him. “Why don’t you and Delphine just go off and fuck? We all know you can’t think of anything else.”

The only reason he didn’t fry me on the spot was that even _he_ was subject the rules of Sanctuary. Not that there were many rules anymore. But I think even a Titan would have trouble against a dragon, a jackal, a panther and a bunch of wolves. Oh and the bears. Did I mention the whole crap loads of angry bears?

Nick looked at my gun and gave me exactly the same look that Sam had given me when she first saw it. “A gun? You have no idea what you’re doing.”

He’d seen my brand, I knew.

“Yeah, Malachai,” I said. “But even you couldn’t survive a shotgun blast to the head. I could do it, too.” I patted my bag next to me.

He was surprised I knew he was the Malachai and he showed it.

“You do know what happens if you kill him don’t you?” Jared asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I die, you die, Acheron dies, Apollymi is freed, the world ends. I couldn’t care less.”

Delphine looked at me. “You do care. How could you not?”

“My world ended when my son and husband died. I don’t care about anyone except to annoy the shit out of them.”

Zarek laughed. “Oh, I like you, kid.”

I put my gun back together, raised it and shot out the light bulb above our table. I grinned.

Four Sanctuary staff appeared almost immediately. “Why’d you shoot out the light?” Aimee Peltier asked.

I looked up at her, she was the only woman in the Peltier clan, pissing her off would get me a “little chat” from her mate and brothers.

That’d be fun.

“I’m a Dark-Hunter,” I said. “It was too bright.”

Everyone in the bar was staring.

“Out!” she said, pointing to the door. “Now!”

“Nah,” I said. “I haven’t even finished my drink yet.”

She just jabbed her finger at the door.

“Fine, fine, I’m going.” I picked up my bag and said, “Nice seeing you, Sam.”

“Never is,” she replied.

And I walked out the door laughing.

I passed Dev on my way out. “That was fast,” he said.

I waved without looking back at him. “See ya, boy.”

He growled.

I laughed and stalked off into the night.

 

* * *

 

I found a group of six Daimons half an hour later. There were four ordinary- and two gallu-Spathi.

Fun!

I quickly ran around the block so I would be coming at them from the front. I met up with them outside a club.

They didn’t look for my brand. They saw what they wanted to see. A human woman in clashing colours. A soul to steal.

“Honey,” the one in the lead said to me. “Do you want to come inside for a drink with us?” He gestured to the door.

“Nah,” I said. “We could go back to my place, though. It’s not far.” I started backing into the alley behind me. “Come on.”

They followed. “What’s your name?” one of them asked.

“Ruth.”

And when they were all in the alley I said, “My God, you guys are stupid. Don’t you use your eyes?” I turned and showed them my brand.

“Dark-Hunter, you can’t kill us.”

“You wanna bet?” I pulled my gun and shot the plain Spathi in the hearts. Then I leapt forward pulling my knife as I went.

One tried to tackle me to the ground but I jumped out of his way and kicked him in the head.

The other came at me. I shot him twice before he knocked the gun from my hand. I pulled my shotgun and blasted his brains out.

I spun, knowing the other Spathi was up. He had a knife in each hand, his fangs barred, as he came at me. “I’ll kill you, Ruth.”

I dove forward and hit him in the chest, knocking him back. I ripped my knife across his throat, then snapped his neck. He exploded. “No,” I said to the falling dust. “You won’t.”

Because Ruth is dead and I _am_ Ruthless.


End file.
